This is not a very good way to begin the holiday season.
I was with Ted and Elaine last night as they went out on a date—they were in Elaine’s hometown at one of her favorite restaurants, and Ted was making Elaine laugh by flirting outrageously with their oblivious waiter—when Brid called me urgently away. I arrived to find the rain pouring down outside the Price home, with all three of the family huddled at the foot of the steps. At first I did not understand what was happening, until I saw one of Harrington’s canes fallen off to one side, and the way Harrington himself was lying half-on, half-off the steps. Isabella and Arthur were bent over him, calling his name.
“It was a bad fall,” Brid told me—she, too, was crouched over our charge, her wings spread over him, her hand outstretched. “It has not worsened the injury, I do not believe, but it will set him back in his healing.”
I could see that Harrington was in a great deal of pain, and the freezing rain was not helping him. The greater chill, however, was in Harrington’s spirit—already fear was gathering, whispering that his mobility would be gone once again, that because of a single poorly placed cane, he may have ruined any chance of independence.
“That is not so,” I whispered to him. “You will be all right, truly.” I washed him in warmth and reassurance, though it felt that my efforts were striking a cold stone wall.
Brid urged me to persist. “Pain can be as effective as a strong will to keep our words at bay,” she told me. “But he needs you, Asa’el, and he needs his family.”
I know that this is the truth, but I wonder if Harrington realizes it. Brid and I both stayed with him as the family made their way to the hospital, as Harrington was admitted and examined. To be back in the hospital was especially traumatic for him—for them all, really, and I made certain to check in with Isabella and Arthur often. And the doctor’s decision, which of course aligned with Brid’s diagnosis, was even more depressing.
“I’m afraid it’s back to the wheelchair for you, Harrington. At least six more weeks, maybe longer.”
“But I will be able to walk again?” Harrington pressed, all of his attention and will focused on the doctor.
The hesitation before the doctor answered was a bit too long for his words to be a comfort. “I believe so, but we’ll just have to see what things look like.”
Harrington felt tears stinging his eyes and looked away, fighting hard to keep them at bay. It was a vain battle, and the doctor excused himself. Isabella hurried to her husband’s side, but he recoiled from her embrace.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to pretend that he was just rubbing his eyes.
“You are not,” I whispered. “But you don’t have to be.”
Isabella’s words were more effective. “There is no shame in grieving over this, Harrington,” she said, her voice almost fierce. “We have always taught our son that a man can cry—was that a lie?”
For the first time that evening, Harrington looked fully at his wife, then at his son, whose eyes were also red. His face crumpled, and he fell forward into Isabella’s arms. She held him close, drawing Arthur forward as well, and they grieved together.
Relieved, I went to join Brid, who, having done what good she could in the moment, was watching closely. “Do you agree with the doctor? He will walk again?”
“Oh, certainly,” Brid said, and her eyes were alight with determination. “I will not allow anything else.”
Would that every sick or injured person could have such a champion. “Then we both will have our work cut out for us. I do not think the risk of despair is gone, not by a long shot.”
She gave me a look through narrowed eyes. “You have more and more human slang in your speech every day, Asa’el.”
It made me laugh, which may have been her intention. “And is there anything wrong with that?”
Only a twitch of her mouth answered that question as she turned her gaze back to Harrington. “I think you are right,” she said. “I think he will be likely to fall back into himself, rather than reach out to his loved ones for help.” This time she turned fully to me, her brow furrowed with worry. “I am glad you are with me. It would have been difficult to protect him on my own.”
I am glad to have Brid, too, of course. Together we can accomplish much more than we would on our own—including healing Harrington. We have done it once; we can do it again.